Page 12 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Beast
Fully intending not to speak directly to Isabella about what Lord Townsend had asked of him, Arthur opened his mouth to tell her that it was not her business, only for his mother to speak before him.
“Lord Townsend has debts. He wishes your brother to pay off such debts and, in return, he will marry Lord Townsend’s daughter, Miss Abigail Townsend. It is a wise suggestion, of course, because your brother might struggle to find a young lady to marry – not because there is anything wrong with him but rather because thetonare much too foolish in their opinions.” With a sniff, Lady Crestwood looked away but not before Arthur had caught the hint of tears in her eyes. Was she truly that upset on his behalf? His own heart softened for a moment but he drew strength into himself, pushing away all thought of emotion. He had to try his utmost not to care in the least bit what society thought of him. It was the only way he could survive the Season intact.
Clearing his throat, he lifted one shoulder and then let it fall. “It is only something I am considering.”
Isabella’s expression was inscrutable. He could not tell what she was thinking nor what she made of this new information. Arthur told himself that it did not matter in the least what she thought but all the same, when a flickering frown graced her forehead, Arthur caught his own forehead furrowing.
“What does Miss Townsend think of this arrangement?”
Arthur hesitated, finding himself entirely uncertain and therefore unsure as to how best he ought to answer. “I – I do not think it matters, Isabella. The lady will do as she is directed by her father.”
Isabella’s eyebrows lifted. “Goodness. I did not think you as unfeeling as that, Crestwood. Would you be willing to make that sort of arrangement for me? Would you be contented to set me into matrimony with a gentleman I did not know or care for without even thinking of my own feelings?”
With a cough, Arthur fought to find an answer, only for there to come a knock at the door. “Come in.”
The butler stepped in, glanced to where Isabella and Lady Crestwood stood and then came directly towards Arthur, a calling card in his hand. “My lord.”
Arthur took it, only for his chest to tighten, his eyes flaring wide as he stared at the card, barely able to take in who it was who had come to call.
“Crestwood?” His mother’s voice cut through his surprise, making Arthur jerk his head up. “What is it?”
“My lord?” the butler murmured, not quite catching his eye. “What should I say?”
Swallowing hard, Arthur gave a brief nod to the butler and then, without a word, offered the calling card to his mother.
“Lady Clara?”
“Hush, if you please,” Arthur murmured, finding himself walking across the drawing room to where the mirror hung on the wall, looking at his reflection. One glance at his scarred face had him turning away sharply, a ball of anger and confusion settling in his chest. Whatever was Lady Clara and her mother doing here? And why had he agreed that they could come in? Surely, after everything Lady Clara had done, he ought to be refusing to see her?
“Lady Clara is coming?” Isabella asked, her voice full of shock as Arthur nodded grimly, turning back from the mirror and standing directly in front of the fireplace, clasping his hands behind his back. “Why?”
“I suppose we shall find out,” Arthur replied, gesturing for her to rise to her feet. His own heart betrayed him, however, pounding furiously as the door opened and Lady Templeton, followed by Lady Clara walked into the room.
“Good afternoon.” Lady Templeton’s smile was a little fixed, her eyes darting from one person to another rather than lingering on any face. “Thank you for permitting us to call upon you all.”
Arthur bowed and then forced himself to look at Lady Clara. It was the first time he had been in company with her since she had ended their engagement though, to his eyes, she was just as beautiful as ever. A gentle glow in her cheeks, dark lashes framing clear blue eyes and golden curls that shone like the sun – she had retained all of her beauty, certainly, though he could not say the same about her character. That was quite ruined in his eyes.
“Good afternoon, Lady Clara,” he said, before she could speak. “Might I ask why you have come to call on me?”
The question was direct and Lady Clara’s eyes flared wide, as did her mother’s. The two looked at one another though Arthur said nothing more, waiting for her to answer him rather than fill the silence with any sort of explanation.
“I – I wanted to make certain that there was no difficulty between us.” Lady Clara’s voice was soft, her words hesitant but Arthur felt no sympathy. She was the one who had caused this impasse, this brokenness between them. He had no reason to feel any sort of awkwardness, though it was there, nonetheless. “I had heard you returned to London and I thought it best to call so we might speak briefly.”
Arthur lifted his chin. “I have no intention of having any sort of connection between you and me, Lady Clara,” he said, still speaking as plainly as he could despite the fact that Lady Templeton gasped at his boldness. “I shall leave you to visit with my mother and sister but, given that this shall be the extent of our conversation throughout the rest of the Season, I think I shall take my leave.”
Without looking at anyone and hoping his mother would not be irritated by his decision to quit the room, Arthur walked directly towards the door, only for Lady Clara to put out one hand and catch his arm. Frustration burned hot and he turned sharp eyes to hers, only to see tears brimming there.
“I am sorry, Crestwood.”
It was barely loud enough for him to hear, a quiet whisper spoken with a breathlessness that spoke of pain and regret. But Arthur said nothing, pulling his arm free from hers and walking directly to the door so he might escape just as quickly as he could.
Chapter Six
“Come in.” Clearing his throat, Abigail’s father lifted his chin as she walked into the room, seeing her mother sitting in a chair by the fireplace in her father’s study. “Now, what I should like from you is for you to listen to me without question or discussion. There is much that must be said and I want to make myself very clear.”
Abigail looked back at him without saying a word of either agreement or disagreement. If this was to be a meeting where her future was decided, then she would speak as freely as she wished so she might ascertain exactly what was going to happen – and make it plain how she felt about it all.
Sitting down and ignoring a sharp look from her father, Abigail folded her hands in her lap and tried to breathe slowly and carefully so that her heart might slow its rapid pace. Her father did not sit, however, as she had expected but instead began to walk up and down in front of her, his hands behind his back.
